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OTP Issue One incomplete
Alan McVitie grinned as he saw himself in the mirror. It had been weeks, six of them to be precise, since he'd last donned that finishing touch. He'd felt lost without it, but now he was a whole again; it his second favourite thing in the world. Wearing the green beret made him complete, and it belonged on his head. The only other person in the world who knew that was the only thing in the world that he valued over his job. Still beaming with that satsified smirk, he raced down the stairs to the kitchen; a room that was like a Cave of Wonders to him. Those wonders were toast and jam and the occasional croissant, and of course, her. His darling wife, his Molly, the only person for whom he'd throw the beret at the ground; who was currently scrutinising a creased sheet of paper on the breakfast bar. She seemed to pivot on the spot as soon as he entered the room, reclining back against the breakfast bar as she purred "Well hello, handsome..." "Oh stop with the jokes Mol" Alan smiled back. He perched himself on one of the tall chairs next to the bar and took a moment to admire her beauty. Her flowing brown hair, her soft and kind eyes, and of course her rather generous breasts; he was a man of honor and he'd never say it outright, but he'd never seen a woman with a chest like Molly's. The last thing about her, the perfect thing about her - in his eyes, at least - was totally unseeable. That title belonged to her personality alone; she was funny and charming, and had a wit that he'd cherished than he liked to admit. All of that was packaged into the form of a secondary school teacher who came home every evening with bags under her eyes and paperwork under her arms. And yet she was still so full of life. "Y'know Al..." Molly resumed her scrutiny as she spoke, occasionally ticking or crossing with an old red biro. "You looked lost without that great green rag on your head, like a puppy without it's collar." Alan didn't know whether to be offended or to laugh, but it was his Molly, so of course he just let out a hearty chuckle. "Collar? Oh, you mean like that pile of marking you bring home every night?" "Nowhere near Al, nowehere near..." as if on cue, Molly gave the sheet one last tick and then pushed it away, turning once more to face her husband. "If you people ever come up with a way to go back in time, please give me the pleasure of doing Shakespeare in...I swear, if I have to read one more essay about how Macbeth was "a bit loony" and his wife was "a total cow", I'm gonna go be a total cow and put all those little gobshites in detention..." "Oh I wouldn't call you a cow darlin'" "You flatter m-" "Maybe a plump goat, but not a cow.." When he came out with that, they both started laughing, despite the fact that it wasn't funny in the slightest. That was just how they were, Alan and his Mol, two of a kind. Yeah, maybe their kind was a total anomaly, but at least they each had someone else to share in their madness. And now that madness came to mind, he'd better get moving. "I should probably head out Mol, Vasquez is meeting at St James's Park, and you know how impatient the man is..." Alan's mind drifted to the thought of his old friend, probably tapping his foot as they spoke and glaring at the nearest crying baby. "Oh don't be so harsh on Juan, he's a lovely fellow, just a bit...y'know..." "Impatient" Alan added, and they both sniggered. He got down from the chair, slipped his feet into his boots, tied the laces and brought both hands to his beret. He'd do that "green rag" proud. He'd do his Queen and Country proud. And most importantly of all, he'd do his wife proud. He walked over to her, embraced her in his strong arms, and planted a kiss on her forehead. They lingered for a second, just for a second, and the sentiment was unbelievably clear to Alan. She didn't want him to go, she wanted him to throw the cap and the Prime Minister and the Queen and the Country, and just be hers. Yet for some reason, he allowed himself to part their embrace. For some reason, he walked out of the door. For years to come, decades even, he'd regret that decision; but he didn't know it yet. ----- Juan Vasquez hated children. He hated them more than he hated cats, more than he hated woolen jumpers, even more than he hated that bloody horrid cheese that his mother liked. Stinkin' bastard Bishop, the cheese of Satan. But if Stinking Bishop was his cheese, children were his...well, children. The wind blew St James's Park like it did on most days, and it didn't bother him in the slightest. Well, that was a lie, because it carried the screams and shouts and joyful shrieks of brats on it's breath. God, he fucking hated children. And that was when he heard it, the one thing that could ruin his day; even worse than the Prime Minister permanently shipping him out to Timbuk-bloody-tu. Of all the things that ccould've been parked right next to him, it had to one of them. "Them", of course, being an uncapable mother with a screaming baby in her arms. "Excuse me l-" Juan immediately realised that she wouldn't hear his normal voice over the wails of her glorified larva, so he resorted to shouting. "Excuse me love, but would you mind shovin' a sock down the little turd's neck?! Some of us are trying to enjoy a day in the bastard park, we don't need your...creature to be making any noise, that's why we have the fucking ducks." To say that the woman was gobsmacked was an understatement. She was well and truly smacked in the gob, something that satsified Juan more than the sight of an eighteen year old girl on her knees between his legs. The only thing he loved more than making a young girl open her mouth was making a young mother shut hers. And her baby's too. His tirades usually managed to shut down both generations, like a twisted version of Watch With Mother. "And now kids, let's learn how to shut the fuck up" he thought to himself, and chuckled loudly at the thought of it. After he packed in the army, maybe he'd go and audition for it. He was sure that he'd be a damn sight more entertaining than Andy cunting Pandy. Of course, he couldn't hope to compete with Tales from the Riverbank, but he had to aim small. "Look out, Hammy the Hamster, here I fucking come". They sat there in silence, him and the mother and her now sleeping spawn, just the way that he liked it. The sight of Alan McVitie turning the corner was a welcome sight indeed, a refreshing alternative from his current companions, even though he and Alan probably looked like total arseholes parading around in full uniform. But that was was Eddridge wanted, and he didn't want to piss of the PM on the day of the big assignment. Alan, on the other hand, well...that smug cunt just liked the look of himself in a beret. He loved Alan, the man was his dearest friend; and even moreso he loved their unspoken agreement that they were free to criticise eachother in any way whatsoever. "We look like cunts, Al" he told his friend with a chuckle. "A pair of fucking cunts..." "Speak for yourself Juan" Alan replied as Juan rose to his feet and they started to walk. "And why, Staff-Sergeant Vasquez, are you insulting your commanding officer?" "Because you look like a bellend, sir" he shouted as if Alan was a drill sergeant inquiring about the state of his cap badge, earning a disapproving look from his friend and an even angrier one from a nearby couple with a young daughter. As soon as he saw their sourly prude faces, he couldn't help but to burst out in hysterics. "Oh god Alan, the effect that a man on uniform can have on a young woman is astounding, especially when you tell her kid to shut it's fucking trap..." Juan fucking loved his job. His uniform might've been green, but when he wore it, he felt like he was on fire. ----- The one thing that Alan hated about his work was meetings. Everyone had their pet hates; Molly loathed Shakespeare, Juan was repulsed by children, and he hated meetings. He wanted to be out there, fighting, for his Queen and his Country; not sitting in an office and indulging the mind-numbing tediom that was the Prime Minister. Malcolm Eddridge was a stout man, as wide as he was tall, and had amassed a vast collection of chins in the past few years. He hung them from his neck like an ancient warrior might hand fingers or ears from a necklace; except he looked more like a toad than a tribal war chief. He was, as Alan knew Juan to call him, a complete and total arsehat. And he was Labour. If there was one thing the Colonel disliked as much as the Prime Minister, it was the rest of his party. "Cecil, close the door" Eddridge told his butler as he joined Alan and Juan in the room, and the grey-haired man promptly did as he was bid. The Prime Minister himself took a seat in a wide chair that Alan could only assumed had been purposely built to accomodate a man as wide as he was. Eddridge attempted to scoot his chair forward, but proceeded to do nothing but bounce backward when his great gut hit the edge of the table. With his infamous awareness, the strong senses that served him well in rising through the ranks, Alan heard Juan supress a titter of a giggle. He was clearly as unimpressed by the Prime Minister as he had ever been; though he had never shown it outright in the fat man's presence. "Captain McVitie" Eddridge croaked, likely down with a cold or something similar. "And Sergeant Vasque-" "Staff-Sergeant Vasquez" Juan corrected with a smirk. Alan knew his friend all too well, he was one to take pleasure in every little victory he could win against a bigger power; especially a power as overweight as their fearless leader, as Eddridge's aide once branded him in a press release. "Ah...uh...yes, sorry Staff-Sergeant Vasquez..." Eddridge stammered, apologising for his small yet corrected mistake. "Apology accepted" Juan smiled at the Prime Minister, so gracious that he was obviously taking the piss. Alan didn't know whether he loved the man or loathed him, but he was a good friend and a good laugh; regardless. "Now would you be so kind as to tell us why we are here, sir?" Juan asked the fat man, clearly wanting to get to the point. "Gentleman, yes, of course..." Eddridge turned to the door and called to his butler: "Cecil, send Mason in!" The man who entered with Cecil looked to be the definition of shifty, though to be fair, he had to compete with Cecil himself for that title. Alan had visited the Prime Minister many times over the past few years, and he had grown to dislike Eddridge's grey-haired lapdog with what could only be described as enthusiam. "Hating with enthusiam" he thought to himself Juan would be so proud..." "This", Eddridge told them as he gestured to the new arrival, "is Dr Eric Mason. You'll be his escort when he flies out to Dhofar this evening, and will stay with him while he conducts his research. He'll be your commanding officer for the duration of the-" "Hold on a sec, sir" Juan said, interrupting the Prime Minister. Alan had grown to know Juan by the amount of trouble that he caused, and this was likely to be no exception. In any case, he let Juan continue. "Do you mean to tell myself and Captain McVitie that we are to be taking babysitters. And not only that, but babysitters who take orders from the bleedin' toddler? We're SAS, sir, in case you've forgo-" "I have not forgotten" Eddridge told Juan sharply, the first time that Alan had ever seen the man display a backbone. "But Mason's work is very important, and I will not have it jeopardised. Is that understood, Vasquez?" "Yes sir" Juan growled. Alan had learned rather quickly that Juan knew how to choose his battles carefully. This was a battle that neither of them needed. Of course, however, Alan had to make one interruption himself. "Excuse me, sir" he began, hoping to seem more polite than his friend. "I was wondering how long it might be until I might see my wife again..." That was the crux of it all, really. Alan didn't care about what Mason was doing or what their job was; he just wanted to get it done quickly and get back to Molly. What the Prime Minister told him next both shocked and thrilled him. "Captain, your wife will be joining you in Dhofar. She'll be helping to teach local children, as their is no school in the area you'll arrive in." "B-b-but sir!" Alan protested. He would not have Molly's life put at risk out there in that barbaric wasteland. He would not let it happen, yet somehow he could not bring himself to speak any further. "Relax, Captain McVitie..." Eddridge told him, although he still mistrusted the fat man far more than he wished to. "Your wife will have a bodyguard at all times...Cecil, send the bloke in..." The door swung open again, and this time Cecil escorted a stout yet resolute looking young man, who must've been in his later twenties and yet still had a full and thick beard; one that would make many older men jealous. The man was dark-skinned, and he had an enourmously cocky grin on his face. He walked over to Alan and immediately offered his hand, which Alan made sure to shake with gratitude. After all, this man would be his wife's shield for months to come. "Pleased to meet you Captain McVitie" the man beamed. "Name's Lambert Hartigan, Captain in the Grenadier Guards...you, sir, however, look to be a friend...and my friends call me Butch..."